Free Race For Love by Nana Malone Page A

need to get around."
    "We are in agreement. But, you can do it without the chair."
    "Fuck you."
    "We'll get to that. In the meantime, here are the crutches. Use them, or don't, not my problem. I'll see you downstairs in ten minutes."
    Ten minutes? He was kidding himself. "I'll get there when I get there."
    He flashed the devil's own grin at her. "Ten minutes, or I'm coming up to help you and you might not like the state of undress I find you in."
    She flushed and thanked God it was dark in the room. "Fine, can you get out so I can get ready?" It was official. She hated Derek Donovan.
    He pushed away from the bed smoothly. "Incidentally, did you know you talk in your sleep?"
    Oh God. No, please if there was a God or Buddha or whoever, no . She was dreaming. It was supposed to be a safe place. How was she supposed to know he was really there. Intruding on prime sleep time. "No, I don't. What time is it anyway?"
    He nodded and laughed low. "Yes, you do, but I'm gonna let it slide right now. It's five thirty. Get your ass in gear." At the door, he paused and turned to face her. "One more thing. Take the damn ibuprofen. I need you fighting on full cylinders and you can't be distracted by residual pain. If you choose not to take it, that's your business, but then I'm going to start finding other ways to get you medication, do you understand?"
    Her eyes flared. "You wouldn't dare drug me."
    Derek crossed his arms and her gaze was pulled to those magnificent pecs and the bulges on his arms.
    "No, I wouldn't. But I have other ways of motivating you."
    A shudder ran down her spine. Something in his gaze told her he was deadly serious. She eyeballed the two tablets sitting on her bedside table along with the glass of water. "I take it and you get off my case?"
    "That's how this works. You do what I say, I don’t give you any shit. You don’t do what I say, I make life hellish." As he turned to leave he said, "Make good choices, Kisima."
    She glared at the ibuprofen, but she did as she was told and popped the pills into her mouth. Maybe it would be nice not to be in pain all the time. Besides, it was only ibuprofen. It wasn't going to hurt her and she wasn't becoming dependent on it. Besides, she had a feeling that the two she took were going to be just enough to dull the sharpness of pain and nothing more. Derek Donovan didn't look like he was playing around and she'd need all the help she could get.
    ***
    Derek gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. This was all kinds of a mistake. Kisima was going to kill him. He tried to remind himself of the Kallie situation—calling up the way it felt when he'd found out the truth. He was so desperate, he even pulled out memories of his mother and the way she left. How he'd felt when she ran away with her new boyfriend, someone she worked with, leaving him and Dylan behind. But none of it worked. Barely a week with Kisima and he was about to cross every professional boundary he had.
    The woman was infuriating. She was obstinate, she thought she knew better. She fought him on everything, making him deliberately nuts.
    And fuck it, the whole house smelled like her coconut hair stuff. The bathroom, the kitchen. Everything. Sleeping last night had been a special challenge.
    He scrubbed his hands down his face. This was fine. He could do this. She was a client. He just needed to look at her like he looked at Deyshawn. She was nothing special. Liar . Under those thin vintage t-shirts she seemed to favor, her tits were like a beacon, full and pert.
    You're a professional, asshole. Keep your eyes and your mind off her tits . That was all well and good, but the real problem was he'd looked her up last night. Fired up the old laptop and gone looking at that damn Sport Illustrated cover. The one where she'd been wearing a white bikini. The brightness of the fabric playing off her dark skin. The bottoms had hugged her rounded hips. And the top of the bikini, well, it had only been half on. Her arms